The Accidental Highwayman

by Ben Tripp

  “And a fool if you did, manling.”

  As I clung to the ancient crone, she wept—wept until the scrying stone fell out of her eye socket. I was about to strike a lucifer match to find it when the very leaves seemed to light up around us, filling the trees with a glow like fireflies. But it wasn’t fireflies, as those insects are unsuited to Ireland’s climate. It was Faeries. A great shimmering song filled the air.

  Through the shrubs and bushes wound a footpath, and along this walked a file of feyín, bearing lanterns on tall stalks. These were made from flowers, and gave off a most beautiful light. Behind them came a lean gray wolf, and on the shoulders of the wolf stood a tiny but proud figure, a red-haired feyín woman clad in silver, who reminded me in some way of Morgana.

  “Bow to the turf, boyo,” Magda whispered. “’Tis Étain, the Queen of these parts. Cousin to your poor Morgana.”

  Morgana! A thousand questions crowded my mind, but I spake none of them, for there was a deep solemnity to the moment.

  After the queen upon the wolf there came a file of feyín warriors carrying spears about as long as goose quills, and after them a brace of small bearded gentlemen with goats’ legs and sleeved weskits who must have been fawns.

  There were some speeches made back and forth between Magda and the Queen, spoken in the Faerie language, which had a ceremonial sound to them; there was some bowing and saluting, which I imitated, to be polite. They had a different attitude toward the Eldritch Law here, and mingling with manlings was not entirely forbidden, so I was not regarded with any special concern. Then the Queen turned her face to me and spake at some length. She did not speak English, so Magda translated into her own manner of gibberish, which I could more or less understand.

  The matter of it was this: The Free Faerie People thanked me for my assistance, which was of immense value in their defense of independence; I was to be celebrated this night.

  “A shindig nor yer honor,” was how Magda expressed it.

  The Faeries would have come to me sooner, she translated, but had lost track of me once I came ashore—although every bee in Ireland had borne a description of me far and wide. But as I was too near the sea for the feyín, and too far for the sea sprites, I’d gone undetected.

  “What tole ’em where you was to be found?” Magda said. “A pixie o’erheard a terrible targic song nor the local pub, she did. What sounded a deal like yer own sad tale. Thus they found ’ee.”

  I rushed through whatever words of thanks I could invent in my overexcited brains, then blurted to Magda: “Has anyone here heard what happened to Morgana—is she alive? Did she suffer and drown, or retreat to the Realm Between? I beg you, end my suffering ignorance!”

  Magda shook her head.

  “You manlings and your impatience! Ye lives so short a life, yet ’ee always be in a hurry ter get t’ the end. Patience, young rake-hell.”

  I wasn’t at all reassured by that, but in one way Magda had reminded me of something important: There was no hurry. If Morgana had slipped away to another realm, or perished in the sea, what difference if I knew of it today, tomorrow, or threescore years hence? With a sort of weary resignation, I bent my attention to the magical doings before me and tried to make myself a gracious guest.

  Beneath the trees that night the feyín held a great feast, a hundred times the revel I’d participated in with Willum and his associates back in England. There was a bonfire of green and blue and white flame, these being the fire-colors of the respective bloodlines present (or so I was told). There was a great circle of flat stones around the fire; upon them the guests dined, or sat, or danced. The male feyín’s hats were decorated charmingly with knotted flowers and leaves; the females had flowers plaited in their hair.

  There were other species besides. I saw fauns, pixies green and blue, stout little people I took for dwarfs or leprechauns, and others I knew not: Foxes that walked upon their hind legs, toads with side-whiskers and jeweled brows, and ant-size folk who rode about on the backs of beetles, among others. Strange eyes winked green and yellow and blue beyond the circle of the firelight; who looked through them, I do not know. Perhaps they were things unfit for human sight.

  I ate from tiny dishes that overflowed with food no matter how much was consumed, and knew hardly anything I ate. The dishes obviously made from insects I politely declined, although I’m fairly certain I consumed a cunningly garnished dragonfly. A delicious drink, served in the cups of bluebell flowers—far more delicate than glump—was served in tremendous quantities.* Bluebells are poisonous, but the poison in these had been somehow enchanted so that it had a merry effect on the feyín. I did not feel it; still, it quenched my thirst nicely, if only a very little at a time.

  There were orations in several tongues by the feyín chieftains present. Then Magda screeched out an emphatic speech (in Gaelic, I believe) that was met with ferocious yells of approval, distinctly warlike. Then Queen Étain bade silence, and stood before the fire and addressed the entire company. The roaring blaze died down to a flicker while she spoke, as if a lid had been placed over it, so that she could be seen by everyone around the circle.

  What she said, I cannot tell, for only a few words in English met my ear, but I heard my own name repeated several times, and Morgana’s, and Midnight’s, and others who had been a part of the adventure. I thought as well that I heard a phrase once spoken by my dying master, which I had taken at the time for delirious nonsense. As she spoke, more and more pairs of eyes were turned my way, until I was dreadfully self-conscious. At last her tale was done, and three rousing cheers rang into the boughs.

  I was instructed to advance and kneel before the tiny queen, straight through the fire.

  “Garn wi’ ye, boyo!” Magda cackled. “It ain’t a mantigorn!”

  I passed through the flames. The fire didn’t burn, but crackled and pricked upon me like a very dry blanket will do when rubbed against itself. Upon the far side of the blaze, I bent on one knee. The Queen fluttered up higher than my head and delivered another speech, which sounded very formal. Thus was I awarded the Silver Bough and Acorns, apparently a mark of considerable distinction. It entitled feyín and other magical creatures to interact with me without restriction wherever I went, although I was but a manling. It also came with a sort of pension (paid all in silver on the full moon, naturally), and a pretty little pin of leaves and acorns to fix upon my lapel.

  This last item was applied by a feyín girl, the first child I’d seen among them. She was the size of a chickadee and covered in downy fur. Her wings beat so fast I couldn’t see them. I wondered if Morgana had been covered with fur when she was a child.

  The ceremonial part of the evening had ended. I returned to my place, and the large, lean wolf sat down beside me; it seemed to be a friend of Demon, for they touched noses. Midnight was led into the circle of light by a couple of feyín who guided him by the ears; I have no idea what he made of the scene. His mane was braided through and through with wildflowers, and friendly pixies took turns alighting on his underlip to feed him bits of honeycomb.

  There was much cheering and shouting and diving through the air. Then a command rang out and dozens of the flying sort took to the air at once. They commenced a Faerie dance that took place upon the wing, the dancers bowing and whirling in the air like cherry blossoms pinwheeling in a capricious breeze; the music was at once absurd and moving, played on strange instruments, tiny strings and woodwinds and silver horns.

  The fire leapt up again, and daredevils took turns flying through the upper reaches of it, scorching their wings to uproarious applause. A flight of Faerie maidens draped garlands of flowers around my neck, and blew sparkling pink kisses at me from a modest distance (the acceptable form of kissing among their unmarried people). The revelry went on for hours, with Madga, the chieftains, and the Queen in long counsel together, and various dignitaries offering their regards to me. Songs were sung, including the sad song I’d heard in the tavern; it was rendered in English, and ran to ma
ny increasingly fantastical verses. It struck me with melancholy, which I did my best to conceal.

  Demon had long since fallen asleep in my lap, snoring with tremendous force. Despite the wonders all around me, after countless rounds of bluebell liqueur, I joined him in slumber where I sat.

  Chapter 38

  WORD FROM ABROAD

  MY LIFE settled into a small routine. I once offered to help the fisherman, as much for something to do as to be useful to my kind host. I was useless—besides the seasickness that overcame me in the tossing boat, my eyes were bent continuously upon the waves, as if I might spy my love paddling about with the fishes. We were not even in the same part of the water where I’d lost her, but in a bay several miles distant. I may have reduced his catch by 20 per cent that day.

  I also assisted his wife, with better results, for all she required was sweeping and scrubbing, at which activities I was adept due to cleaning up the Manse once or twice a month.

  About two weeks after my unusual arrival on Ireland’s shores, I retuned from exercising Midnight to find a man in knee-garters arrived at the gate with a letter. It was exciting to receive news that wasn’t borne on the wings of a bee. I eagerly tore open the envelope.

  Sweet Morgana and dearest Kit [it began, unhappily],

  It is me Lily. I trust this finds you well for I am told by Master Willum that you have arrived safely in Ireland as he learnt by long-distance bee. I am well and Willum and Gruntle are well also who are here staying with me until such time as it is safe for them to make passage there to you. I take up pen though not a good hand at writing because my message is too long for magick bee. [I have omitted the unique spellings, which would have proved Lily’s critique, in the cause of legibility.]

  It was a great sorrow to part from you unexpectedly the night of the fire in that silly town. You may not know what happ’ned afterward. I fell from the rope and cracked a bone in my foot and Uncle Cornelius was knocked senseless in the confusion and broke his dear old head. I did not see you again but heard of your capture some days later and lost heart altogether and a few days after that Uncle Cornelius was ailing sorely abed in an inn and begged me to deliver a message. He told me of a lawyer he kept in secret from that wretched nursemaid Prudence Fingers and that he had told the lawyer also the three questions to make sure Miss Fingers did not attempt to lie about the answers in order to keep herself in command of his fortunes. Which as you know is just what she done.

  Uncle Cornelius never came to recognize me but told me how much I looked like his niece Lily and how he loved her and wished her happiness and if I met her would I tell her so and I said I was sure she already knew. He said he had never had such delight as traveling with us and it was the best tour he ever made of the world and hoped we might do it again the following year.

  Well then that very night my poor blessed uncle died and how I wept you can only imagine. I went with heavy heart to the lawyer he named. A very handsome young fellow not like a lawyer at all to look at him. He is very clever and had an idea to test my claim right away.

  He took me back to Uncle Cornelius’s house with me in a veil so my features couldn’t be seen and Prudence Fingers asked me the questions again and I answered them right and that wicked girl said I did not answer them right. But the lawyer whose name is Mr. Stoker, Esquire knew the answers already and seeing that I knew them also he knew then that Miss Fingers was a liar and a thief and I was truly Uncle Cornelius’s Lily so now I am mistress of the estate and set handsome for life.

  That Prudence Fingers and the man with the red hair have fled and hid somewhere but I have old Fred here to protect me once Willum and Gruntle have departed. And not only Fred but Mr. Stoker, Esquire for we was married but three days past and at last I am a honest woman. I miss Uncle Cornelius every day but I am used to that. I miss you every day and it pains me still. Be well.

  With all my love,

  Lily Stoker

  P. Yes—Fred misses Midnight he said so.

  I am not ashamed to admit my eyes were wet with happiness at the conclusion of this letter, for I had often wondered about what had become of Lily after that terrible night. I read the letter through several more times.

  That same morning, I had awakened in my corner of the fisherman’s cottage to discover a sack of small silver coins in the crook of my arm; I gave as many of these to the fisherman and his wife as they would accept, which was as few as need would permit them. They were honest folk.

  Not wishing them to see my confusion of moods, I determined to go down the cliff to the shore and watch the sea awhile. I hadn’t ventured back to the fateful beach since my arrival. It was a cold day with a good breeze tugging at my borrowed hat, autumn in the breath of the wind. It was a time to be philosophical, not to drown in misery. I had won the heart of a princess, after all. How many fellows in all the history of the world—this world, or another beside it—may make that claim? But I hadn’t been able to keep her. That was the Faerie way. There seemed always to be a trick at the back of their doings, no matter how long it took for the thing to reveal itself.

  I was lost in thoughts of this nature when a tiny figure emerged from the water. It was a feyín, more or less, but different from any other I’d seen: She had long, stiff wings like the fins of a fish on her back, and she was entirely silver in color except for the black tiger stripes that wrapped all around her body. She had no hair on her head, nor garments on her person. I guessed this must be a water sprite.

  She skipped out of the creamy surf between the going of one wave and the coming of another, and stood before me. “Art thou Master Kit?” she inquired.

  “I am he,” said I, doffing my hat.

  She curtsied. “I am Ribbonfish. We have been waiting for you to come down to shore this past fortnight. We cannot venture far from the water’s edge, and you seemed content to sit at yon window evermore.” Here she indicated the shed, up at the top of the cliff.

  “You could have sent me a bee,” I suggested. I was in agonies of excitement and dread. Surely this creature would know what had happened to Morgana!

  Ribbonfish bowed low. “So few bees beneath the water. I have a message for you, Master Kit,” she continued, and my heart leapt almost out of my mouth. Her next words would either dash my hopes forever or set them aflame.

  The sprite tipped her head to remember the exact wording, and then said, “The Princess Morgana ne Dé Danann Trolkvinde Arian yn Gadael ou Elgeron-Smith sends thee her affection.”

  I can tell you this without fear of seeming ridiculous, I think: I all but fainted, right there on the strand. It was as if the cold, blustery day had vanished, and the whole world was made of warm honey, new butter, and fresh bread for toasting. I sank to my knees and clasped my hands over my heart. Ribbonfish’s tiny, black-eyed face was bent with concern.

  “Art thou ill?”

  “Merely overcome. That is very good news,” said I, when I’d got my wits back. “Pray tell, is there more? Surely she said more. When may I see her?”

  “Between now and never,” the water sprite said. “She begs thy forgiveness, but the Princess would not risk thine life so freely there as thou wouldst do. The One-Eyed Duchess survived, and is most wroth; wouldst have your lungs for a bath sponge. And there are perils worse than she. Princess Morgana journeys through dread places in the Realm Between, seeking allies to our cause; the first is the Fortress of Teeth. Thither and there no manling may go, according to chapter nine, verse twelve of the Eldritch Law.”

  “May I trust you to deliver a reply?” I said.

  “The Princess eagerly awaits your word, Master Kit.”

  “Tell Morgana no law shall keep us apart. I’ll see her soon.”

  After all, what did the Eldritch Law mean to me?

  I was a highwayman!

  END

  The Accidental Giant

  READ ON FOR A PREVIEW FROM KIT AND MORGANA’S NEXT ADVENTURE

  IT WAS a chilly morning. The grassy commons where my appoi
ntment with death would occur was a half-mile away. It seemed a thousand times that distance. As I approached the green through the pale, flabby mist, I saw my seconds and a couple of spectators had already gathered at the killing ground, despite the early hour. They had the advantage of horses, which I saw stamping and steaming beneath some trees nearby. It wouldn’t do to have one struck by a stray pistol-ball. They were valuable animals.

  My seconds were the local undertaker and Doctor Mend, still suffering from the drink he’d taken the night before. They beat their sides to stay warm and traded jokes about tuberculosis until they saw me coming through the gloom. Then they straightened up, and indulged in only one more laugh before cloaking themselves in solemnity. The spectators smiled nervously—what a thrill to see a man about to die! I’d seen that look on many a face before, when I went to Tyburn to be hanged.

  I greeted them all in a voice pitched uncommonly high, more of a squeak; this spoiled the insouciance I was hoping to affect in saying hello to begin with. The seconds and I shook hands. Mine continued to shake afterwards. There was a space of a few minutes during which we all stood in a group, facing the same direction looking at nothing but the paling mist, and then there were footfalls approaching, and three silhouettes came near.

  There was my opponent in the middle; I recognized his shape. To either side of him were figures that seemed familiar to me. Their outlines filled in with every step. When they were twenty paces away, I knew them. It was Mr. Scratch and Mr. Bufo, King Elgeron’s infernal coachmen. Scratch whipped the horses while Bufo played footman; both of them were cruel beings, and bewitched. The last time I’d met them it was nearly at the cost of my life, and as I had enabled Princess Morgana to escape their clutches, it seemed likely they would finish me perchance I survived the encounter with pistols.

  “Gentlemen,” said Captain Sterne. He was grinning like a skull. “A chill morning, but ere the blood has dried I think it will brighten into a fine day. Shall we to’t? I’ve an appointment at eight o’clock.”